


The Division of Household Labor

by morganya



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-03
Updated: 2007-09-03
Packaged: 2017-10-20 06:59:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganya/pseuds/morganya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Will you shut up about the goddamn blow job?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Division of Household Labor

The problem was that neither of them were especially domestic. William would rather toss books in the corner when he was finished with them than waste time trying to find space on shelves. Mike turned his clothes inside out in order to put off laundry for a few more days. It worked fine when they were still living at home and had their mothers to make sure they got breakfast and kept their rooms clean, but now they were sharing an apartment and they needed a system to keep from degrading into abject squalor.

When they moved in together, they'd agreed that they would trade off from week to week. One week William would clean the bathroom while Mike vacuumed and then the next week Mike would do the dishes while William did the laundry and so on until they would switch over. It worked fine for about two weeks.

They each had their own tactics of trying to avoid the housework. William sulked and pouted until Mike gave in. Mike argued and played dumb until William gave in. The only problem was that they'd gotten predicable, and now Mike just said, "Yeah, your life is awful. Go clean the fuckin' toilet," and William just said, "I'll just be in the other room until you finish justifying yourself. You know where the Lysol is," whenever the other one would start. There seemed to be no way to avoid actually cleaning the fucking apartment anymore.

William was half asleep on the couch while Mike strummed his guitar. His lyric book was in his lap; he only had half a song written, but he'd been awake for twenty eight hours between work and practice and he was out of creative energy. Occasionally he managed to pick his head up and say to Mike, "That sounds awesome, keep going," or "I don't know, try F major instead," and Mike would murmur acknowledgement as he played.

William really wanted a bowl of ice cream. He'd brought home a pint of mint chocolate chip from Baskin-Robbins after work on Thursday but hadn't had time to eat it, and today he'd forgotten to eat lunch, and dinner, and he was starving. He thought about pushing himself off the couch and going into the kitchen, but if he remembered right, the sink was piled high with dirty dishes. Unless Mike had done them, like he'd promised to, but he probably hadn't.

He was just desperate enough that he thought about just grabbing a spoon and eating out of the carton, but he didn't _want_ to eat out of the carton, he wanted to eat out of a nice clean bowl like a normal person. He said, "Mike."

Mike grunted.

"Did you do the dishes?"

"Dishes are fine," Mike said, not looking up.

That was code for "No, Bill, I haven't." William said, "I did them last week. It's your turn."

"They're _fine._ "

"No, they're not. They're gross. We've got no plates or bowls left."

"I'll do them in the morning."

"When are you going to do them, in the five minutes between getting up and going to work? Just do them now."

"I'm doing _this_ now."

"Well, take a break."

Mike sighed. As if William were very small and very stupid, he said, "They're not going anywhere. It can wait."

"They've been sitting there for days."

"Jesus, Bill, why don't you wash them then, if it bothers you so much?"

"Because I _did_ them last week. It's your turn."

"I'll trade you for it."

"I don't want anything. I want clean dishes."

"Just wash one dish, then. I'll do the rest later."

"That's not the point," he snapped. He was coming close to whining, but he was hungry and exhausted and he didn't know why this had to be a big deal. "Why can't you do them?"

"Because I'm _busy_."

"I'm busy. We're both busy. Just do it, please?"

"You do them."

"No!"

"If you do the dishes I'll give you a blow job," Mike blurted.

William blinked. This was new. Mike stared back at him. For a minute he thought Mike was going to laugh, but then he seemed to decide on a course of action and repeated, "Blow job."

"That's ridiculous," William said. "Don't try to bribe me. Just do your chores, okay?"

"I'm really good at it."

"I don't care. Do the dishes."

"You can have some half-assed cleaning, or you can have a really awesome blow job. Which one do you want?"

"Cleaning!" William snapped. "You know what, fuck you. I'm going to bed."

"Come on, Bill."

"I really wanted some ice cream, Carden. I guess I'm not going to get it."

"Why don't you just eat out of the carton like a normal person?"

"Because – forget it. I'm not explaining myself."

"Don't stress out. I know what you need. A blow job."

"I'd rather have clean dishes," William said, and went to bed.

The dishes were still there when William got up, but he was too groggy to bitch about it. Mike was standing over the refrigerator, knuckling his eyes. William mumbled a "Good morning," and Mike mumbled something back, reached into the fridge and handed William his green tea.

"Thanks. How's it look in there?"

"Not so good." Mike kicked the door closed. "I'll stop by the store after work. What do you want?"

"I don't know."

"You have to want something."

"I don't know."

"Bill."

"Bread. Turkey. I don't care."

"Turkey," Mike said. "I'll get turkey."

"Fine."

"Or maybe you just want a blow job."

William looked up from his tea. "Whatever, dude."

"C'mon. It's good for you. You'll feel a lot happier. Because you just really need me to give you a blow job." He began to laugh insanely.

The thing about Mike was that he tended to repeat things, especially if he thought they were funny. He repeated jokes and phrases until William wanted to kill him, which only seemed to amuse Mike more. Already he was leaning over, staring intently at William, saying, "Bill."

"I'm not going to play with you," William said. "You're going to be late for work."

"Dude, it's important. Bill."

"Fuckin' grow up, Carden."

"It's _important,_ Bill. Bill. Bill."

" _What?_ "

"If you do the dishes, I'll give you a blow job."

"Yeah. That's real funny."

Mike started to giggle. "If you clean the bathroom, I'll give you an _extra special_ blow job."

"Are you done?"

"If you make my bed, I'll give you such a blow job that –"

"Will you shut up about the goddamn blow job?" William said, and went to work.

He was still annoyed at Mike when he clocked in. The whole point of living together was that they were going to grow up together, were going to become great artists living in the dregs of poverty together. Except what they were doing didn't feel like art most of the time, it just felt like they were trying to get by, and it was a lot harder to be creative and Bohemian when the apartment was cold and dirty and the rent was past due.

And the really irritating thing was that it was a lot easier for Mike to irritate him than it was to irritate Mike. Mike knew him way too well. He would say the most ridiculous things just to make William mad, and he could never think of anything that would work as a comeback. Blow jobs, for Christ's sake. Honestly.

He wondered how much mileage Mike could get out of this. He'd probably turn everything into a proposition now, until he got tired of it. He wondered how Carden would react if he actually said yes, sure Mike, just let me get my pants off. Mike was stubborn. There was the slightest chance he'd go through with it, even if it was just to save his pride, if William only – and Jesus, what was he thinking, was he actually considering asking Mike to suck him off?

Well, William wasn't going to give in and he wasn't going to give Mike the satisfaction of turning him down. Mike probably was crappy at giving head, anyway. Hell, William'd had to explain to him what a guiche was after Pete gave them a stack of piercing magazines as a housewarming gift. Mike was a lot more innocent than he pretended he was. He just faked it, the big poseur. Faked it using sly green eyes and the swelling curves of his mouth and fucking _dammit_ , Carden.

He'd been folding the same shirt for five minutes, and when his manager came over and sternly asked what he thought he was doing, William stuttered and blushed and mumbled, "I dunno," because he couldn't exactly say that he'd gotten distracted thinking about his roommate sucking him off, now, could he?

He came home tired and headachy, worrying about the lyrics he still had to write. Mike was sitting on the couch, glaring at his guitar. William said, "Hey."

"Hey," Mike said. "I got groceries. The receipt's in the kitchen. I figured we'd sort it out later."

"I'll just give you half. Wait until Friday, okay?"

"Yeah." Mike scowled at his guitar again. "Hey, look what I got."

"What?"

"Fla-Vor-Ice, dude. It was on sale. It was like three boxes for two bucks or something." Mike craned his head around. His lips were stained with sugar syrup. "It's kind of gross and everything, but not too bad, right?"

William looked at him. He was holding this _tube_ of something red and sticky-looking, fingers wrapped around the base. Every so often he'd slide his hands up and suck at the tip, faintest hint of tongue showing. William said to himself, _It's a popsicle, that's it, just a popsicle without a stick. Popsicle wrapped in cellophane, that's it._ Mike curled his mouth over the top and swallowed; William saw the ice quiver with the intake of breath.

"I think this one's strawberry," Mike said, swallowing. "I like strawberry. Or maybe it's cherry." His lips were colored a vivid, whorish red.

"Yeah," William said.

"You want one? They're all in the freezer. Ew, this is melting. It's getting all over my hands."

"What in the holy Christ is _wrong_ with you?" William shouted.

Mike stared at him. He actually looked hurt. "Excuse the fuck out of me. You can do your own grocery shopping next time."

William felt like an asshole. "Sorry. Sorry. Shitty day."

"Whatever." Mike stomped out of the living room, taking his guitar, and his Fla-Vor-Ice, with him.

Carden had _done_ something to him, that was the only explanation. He'd been going along just fine, thank you, content with the odd jerk off session in the bathroom every so often, not really having any sort of sexual fantasies about bandmates and roommates or anything, and then fucking Carden had done something to him and all he could think about was Mike on his knees, smiling while he dug his fingers into William's inner thighs.

It really pissed him off. He wanted to write songs about hope and soul and better things, but he couldn't because every lyric started out with Mike's name now and that wasn't him and what he was all about. Meanwhile, there was nothing whatsofuckingever wrong with Mike, he just kept sitting on the couch and playing these perfect chords and it made William want to yowl.

After the fourth day of staggering through work, gritting his teeth and smiling without opening his mouth whenever customers talked to him, he realized that this had to stop, Mike had to stop. He needed to stop doing whatever he'd done so that William could get on with things and not completely fuck up their lives.

He stomped up the stairs, planning the speech: _Mike, man, I really can't be there for you when you do this. There's too much at stake, I can't get involved when there's this much at stake._ He thought he could manage to keep from getting emotional and keep Mike from moving out or quitting the band, but he couldn't be sure. When he opened the apartment door, he called out, a little more timidly than he wanted, "Mike?"

He almost hoped Mike wouldn't be home, but when he checked the bedroom Mike was curled up on his bed, napping. "Huh," William said under his breath. He went and sat on the foot of his bed and watched Mike sleep. Sometimes that was enough to wake him.

He decided he needed to change the plan after five minutes of staring. He said, "Mike," but Mike didn't move.

 _He's got to be exhausted_ , William thought, almost guiltily. They'd both been pulling double shifts at work and staying up until five in the morning writing or trying to write. Maybe he should wait until they both weren't sleep-deprived and cranky. He said again, "Mike."

Mike's fingers twitched on the pillow. He looked almost innocent, all curled up. "Mike," he tried again, a little louder.

Mike sighed and smacked his lips.

He thought about giving up, except that would mean another night of stressing out and being unable to get anything done. " _Carden._ "

Nothing.

This was ridiculous, he was being manipulated again. Mike had absolutely no right to lie there looking all sweet and innocent, because he _wasn't_ , he was an _asshole_ with _hypnotic powers_ , and before he knew what he was doing he'd picked the pillow off his bed and whipped it at him. " _Hey._ "

"Uh," Mike moaned. "Whassamatter?"

"I can't live like this," William said. "I can't, I can't, I'm fucking everything up and I need to get this shit done. You can't expect me to handle this well."

This had gone a lot better in his head. In his head, he had been calm and collected and Mike had been penitent and soothing. But what was happening now was that he was stuttering and flailing, the way he always did when he got upset, and Mike was looking baffledly at him through half-closed eyes.

"It's not right," William said. "It's not right, I can't just walk around thinking about you and blow jobs, I've got shit to do, I can't –"

"Wait, _what_?"

"I said, I can't get anything done! I keep thinking about you sucking me off!"

Mike burst out laughing. He kicked the covers off his bed and rolled backwards, clutching his stomach and howling.

" _Shut up_ ," William said. "It's not funny. It's serious!"

Mike couldn't even answer. He lay there cackling like a fucking fishwife and it was so infuriating that William launched himself across the room and began doing his best to beat the crap out of Mike. He wasn't doing a very good job. Mike had a good twenty-five pounds on him, which wouldn't ordinarily be so bad because he had a good four inches on Mike, but he was so upset now that he was actually almost in tears and it made it hard to see.

"Bill," Mike gasped after two minutes of them thrashing on the bed, "Bill, William, calm down, man."

"No. I hate you."

"No, you don't. You want a blow job, Bill? Is that what you want?"

"No," William said, but almost instantly went limp. "You're an asshole."

"And you're a drama queen. Makes us even." Mike slid out from under him, kneeling on the floor and struggling with William's jeans. "You know, you could have just asked."

"I didn't want to," he said. Between the fading anger and the sexual frustration, he was so wound up that it just took the brush of Mike's thumb against his thigh and he was hard, his cock pressing into Mike's palm with stupid intent.

"Dude, it was a joke, but –"

"I thought you'd say no."

"Man, you can be really dense," Mike said. He sucked William into his mouth, digging callused fingers into his thighs and hips. He could feel Mike's saliva sliding down his cock, streaking down like a tear.

William slid to the edge of the bed and threw his legs over Mike's shoulders, his heels brushing against the small of Mike's back. Mike hummed and then let him go with a soft pop, turning his head and brushing his mouth against the inside of William's thighs, biting and then sucking the skin. William whimpered – he'd been waiting for this forever, it seemed like, and he wanted it to go on but he also wanted it to stop at the same time.

Mike sucked him back in, a little awkwardly, a little too fast; he could feel the graze of Mike's teeth against his cock and he hissed. Mike murmured an indistinct apology and swirled his tongue around the head, slipping up the sides. He reached for Mike's head, fingers entangling in sweaty hair, but Mike just went, "Nuh- _uh_ ," and grabbed his wrist and pushed it to the side, and William grumbled but Mike didn't stop sucking him off, so he just curled his fingers around the edge of Mike's bed and let Mike raise his hips off the mattress, like Atlas carrying the sky on his shoulders.

Mike kept holding onto his hip with one hand and holding his cock with the other, his pinky resting on William's abdomen. He stopped for a minute to take a breath, resting his chin on the inside of William's thigh, and said, voice a little deeper than usual, "We should do this all the time."

"Don't stop."

Mike giggled. "You can be such a little brat."

"Yeah, yeah."

Mike ran his tongue up the side of William's cock, tracing figure eights on the way down. William sighed. Mike said something, quietly, something about being able to put up with William as long as William could put up with him. He kissed the head of William's cock, flicking his tongue over the slit.

"I can't. I don't," William said.

"Hmm," Mike said. He rubbed William's hip.

William gripped the edge of the bed and pressed his heels into Mike's back, pressed his legs into Mike's shoulders. Mike said, "Settle down," but William came before he could finish the sentence. Mike coughed and almost gagged, pulling away quickly.

"Sorry," William said. He pulled his jeans back up.

Mike wiped his mouth off. "Should have seen that coming. So, glad you asked me?"

William couldn't answer. He slid away from the edge of the bed and leaned against the wall, panting. Mike got up off the floor and then dropped back onto the bed, and before William could feel embarrassed or move or freak out about what this was going to do to the band, Mike had curled himself around him, head resting on William's chest and arms around his waist. William whispered, "Mike, dude, I never knew you were a cuddler."

"'Ut up," Mike said into William's shirt, but didn't move. He held onto William like he was a favorite stuffed animal, one leg thrown over William's and hands knotted into his shirt. William said, "The band, man, we gotta think about the band –"

"You stress about everything too much," Mike said, and yawned. William looked down at his head.

"I'm still not doing the dishes," he informed Mike, just to try to regain some semblance of control.

"Never expected you to," Mike said, voice thick with sleep.


End file.
